


Performance Anxiety

by platypus (kite)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kite/pseuds/platypus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Donna face an age-old dilemma: shag, or die?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> Ten and Donna had great chemistry, and a great friendship. Why shouldn't they be able to have sex and stay friends? Written in 2009.

"No! No, no, nonono." The Doctor flung himself at the heavy wooden door, rattling the handle, pounding frantically and shouting. "Let us out! We can help you!" 

Donna, well aware that this tactic had never once worked, stood back and surveyed their... hotel room? Moments ago, they'd been marched down a sterile white spaceship corridor by hostile (or at least perverted) aliens. Now they were locked in what looked exactly like a cheap hotel bedroom, down to the threadbare floral duvet and bland beige walls. "What the hell just happened?" she demanded. 

The Doctor flattened himself against the door, squinting through the peephole. "They're gone," he muttered. "There must be bugs. Cameras. Microphones." Bounding to the other side of the room, he flung the curtains open, only to find bare wall behind them. He whirled on Donna. "Stay calm." 

She crossed her arms. "They threatened to _kill_ us if we refused to star in some... alien porno. This _is_ calm." 

"It's not pornography," he said, eyeing her warily. "The Pyxids have an infertility problem. Which I could help with," he added loudly, bending to speak into the clock radio, "if they would just let me run some tests." He paused. Nothing happened. He scrubbed at his face with a palm and continued. "Human breeding success is legendary among sentient species. Hence the demand for a... demonstration. They don't care that _I'm not human_." He picked up a vase of fake daisies and examined it closely, dumping it out on the carpet. 

Donna opened the wardrobe door. "What are we looking for?" The hangers inside were attached permanently to the rod, and held nothing but two fluffy dressing gowns and a filmy negligee. 

She jumped when the Doctor stuck his head over her shoulder, frowning at the garments. "Surveillance equipment." He moved on to investigate the bedside table, pulling the drawer open and hastily slamming it shut, then dropped to his knees to look under the bed. "I wish they hadn't taken the sonic screwdriver." 

Trailing behind him, Donna slid the drawer back open; it held a leather-bound book and a strip of square foil packets. She quietly shut it again. 

Across the room, the Doctor felt carefully around the edges of an elaborately framed mirror, then tried to pry it away from the wall. It wouldn't budge. "It's probably here," he said, going nose to nose with his reflection. "Hello? Can you hear me? You're going about this all wrong." 

The expectant silence stretched. And stretched. Finally the Doctor slumped to the floor in defeat, his long legs extended in front of him. He patted the carpet at his side. 

Donna sat. "If this is some kind of alien fertility specialist's, why does it look like a Travelodge?"

"They must be picking up old television broadcasts from Earth." He frowned at the decor. "Or possibly amateur videos. They think putting us in this environment will encourage sexual activity." 

She snorted. "What, no candles or wine or anything? I think they're watching the wrong channel." 

"Donna," he said fiercely, "don't give up. We'll get out of this. We always do."

"We haven't exactly been here before." Though, if she were being honest, the situation wasn't entirely unexpected; she'd found a journal in the TARDIS library, written by some sort of space Casanova, and according to him aliens did things like this all the time. It beat anal probes and inside-out cows, she supposed. Not that she hadn't half thought the stories in the journal were fictional, like Cosmo Confessions, but they made for entertaining reading while stuck in the Vortex for repairs. She just hadn't planned on starring in one herself. 

She narrowed her eyes speculatively at the Doctor, who was smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand as if trying to jar something loose. "I just need to _think_ ," he said. It didn't sound promising. 

"Well, they're aliens," she offered. "If you stick your little finger in my ear and wiggle it around and tell them we're done, will they know any better?"

"Donna, you're not supposed to put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear. I won't be responsible for the Pyxids developing impacted cerumen in addition to infertility." He glanced reluctantly over at the bed. "Anyway, they can't be completely ignorant about human sex." 

Neither, she reflected, could the Doctor. In nine hundred years of kicking around the universe, he'd probably picked up a thing or two just by accident. 

"All right, then," she said.

"Sorry, what was that?"

She was pretty sure he'd heard her the first time. "All right. Let's shag." 

He looked like he'd swallowed a fish. "You can't be serious." 

"Look, if we have to choose between shagging and death, I'm not going to say, 'Guess I'll have a nice death, then,' okay? If we do what they want, we could be on our way in" – she considered his ego – "twenty minutes." 

"No," the Doctor said flatly. "Out of the question. Absolutely not." 

"Then let's see you come up with a better idea," she snapped, oddly stung. 

"Donna, you're a very" – he seemed to consider and reject several things, which did not improve her mood – "magnificent woman. And it's not that I don't appreciate that, or, or... think of you that way –"

"Oi!"

"Hardly ever," he said hastily. 

She didn't know which would be worse: if he'd secretly been ogling her breasts all this time or if he hadn't. She sighed. "Fine. So what's the problem?" 

He ducked his head, red-faced. "I – can't," he mumbled. 

"Can't? Oh, God, you mean we're not even compatible? You've got spikes, or tentacles, or... nothing?" 

"It's not that!" He jammed his hands in his pockets and squirmed. "It's just... I can't... _perform_."

Donna furrowed her brow. "Right now, or ever?"

"On command! For educational purposes!" 

Under any other circumstances, she might have been amused by his deepening blush. "Can't you at least try?" 

"It's not like I can just flip a switch, and this isn't exactly helping to get me in the mood. We could still escape." 

"We could still get killed. Is shagging me really worse than death?" 

"It might help if I thought more about the shagging and less about the death!" He scrambled to his feet and paced away, scowling. 

Gulping a determined breath, Donna stood and followed him, unbuttoning her blouse. "How about now?" she asked, pulling it open to reveal the lacy black bra beneath.

The Doctor stared at the ceiling. "You know we're being watched, right?" 

"You're supposed to be thinking about shagging." She dropped the blouse to the floor and let her hair down, fanning it over her bare shoulders. 

"It's hard to focus –" He glanced down at Donna's chest. "Ulp."

"That's better," she muttered. "Do you need some kinky alien thing to get going? I'm not licking your elbows. I don't have to slap you, do I? Tell me you don't get off on the slapping."

"Stop it," the Doctor said. "I do not need my elbows licked." 

"Right." Donna jiggled helpfully. "Pay attention, then."

He leaned against the wall. "I am," he said, a bit more faintly.

She moved closer and trailed her hand down his chest, feeling the crisp cloth of his shirt and the unsteady rise and fall of his breathing. Ridiculous for touching him to seem so intimate when they hugged practically every day. She slipped a button free, then another, and found skin beneath. He swallowed hard. 

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said softly. "We can find another way." 

"Look, I don't want to swell your head any more than necessary, but you're not that hard on the eyes." She loosened his tie, undid another button. "Anyway, I could always lie back and think of –" 

"Oi! Don't _tell_ me," he said, sounding a little hurt. 

"What I mean is, don't worry. Nothing has to change. We leave here and it'll be the same as it ever was, you and me and the stars. Best mates. It's okay." 

He started to look toward the mirror, but she cupped his cheek, gently turning him back to her. She couldn't read his face. His eyes met hers and stayed, even when he bent to kiss her palm, and something fizzed in her chest. She didn't stop to analyse it, just stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. 

Eventually he broke the silence. "Donna, it's been... a long time." 

"You and me both, spaceman," she sighed, then caught herself. "Oh. You mean a _really_ long time." 

"How many orgasms do you usually have?" 

"Doctor!" she said, exasperated. "I'll settle for a quickie, okay?" 

He straightened up indignantly. "If we're only doing this once, I'd like it to be memorable for more than the audience and how quickly it was over."

"What? Wait a minute." Donna rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to ignore the pain in her temples. This was not the time to plead headache. "You're worried about whether I'll _enjoy_ it?"

A tiny smile played around the edges of the Doctor's mouth. "You're remarkably oblivious sometimes," he said, taking her hand and drawing her closer. As touched as she was frustrated, she slid her arms around him; he pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing softly into her hair. 

"And you're – oh." His hands had settled on her hips and pulled her closer still, making his growing erection impossible to miss. As much relief as arousal flooded through her, and she couldn't hold back a giddy laugh. 

"Compatible," he drawled. 

She grinned, kicking off her shoes. "Then what are we waiting for?"

The Doctor tossed his jacket aside and sat on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the laces of his trainers. Donna came to stand between his knees and he froze, looking up at her, so close she could count the freckles standing out in sharp contrast to his pale skin. 

His face went unexpectedly serious. "Donna, I –" 

"Hush," she said gently, and leaned in to kiss him. 

It started out careful, exploratory, more friendly than anything else, but then she parted her lips and his tongue proved very friendly indeed. By the time she pulled away, he was breathing hard. They both were. He stroked her back, lingering between her shoulder blades, and it took her a moment to realise he was searching for her bra clasp. "It's in front," she mumbled, with a twinge of self-consciousness. 

But all he said was "oh," finding and nimbly releasing the hooks. Her shiver left gooseflesh in its wake, and her nipples were as hard as they'd ever been. She had an excuse ready – the room was a bit cold, right? – but the Doctor was already busy, pushing the cups out of the way and nuzzling eagerly at her. He massaged her breasts, his fingers surprisingly talented, and held one so he could take the nipple in his mouth, sucking with quick flutters of his tongue. 

She relaxed blissfully into it. "Oh, I knew you'd be a fast learner." 

He rubbed the flat of his tongue over her nipple, then drew back and blew on it, making her shiver again. "It's like riding a bicycle," he said, but at Donna's dark look quickly amended, "...in almost no way at all." 

"If anyone here's all angles and sprockets, it's you," she muttered, but it was hard to be critical while digging her fingers appreciatively into his hair. He wasn't fooled, laughing softly and turning to kiss her other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Before she'd quite had enough of that he stood, pulling his half-buttoned shirt over his head. He got hung up on his cuffs, and cursed quietly; while he was occupied, she lowered his zip and undid the catch and slid his trousers down. No spikes. He endured her scrutiny with nothing more than a wryly raised eyebrow, taking her wrist and tugging her onto the bed with him. She wriggled out of her jeans and knickers and he slid over her, more lithe than she'd have given him credit for, his eyes huge and dark. 

"Wait." She yanked the drawer of the bedside table open and tore one of the foil packets free. He accepted it without comment, sitting up to rip open the wrapper and roll the condom on. When he was done, he nudged her legs apart and settled between them, reaching down to position himself; she tensed in anticipation, but he stopped, poised against her, his fringe tickling her cheek. 

"It's not necessarily too late to try the ear thing," he murmured. 

She laughed in spite of herself and swatted at his shoulder. "Don't you dare." 

And then he was sliding into her, all the way in with one slow thrust. It _had_ been a long time; she had to admit, it felt fantastic. "How's that?" he asked, shifting tentatively, as if getting his bearings. From the catch in his voice, it was pretty good for him. 

"I won't break," she promised, with an encouraging rock of her hips. He made a noise that was half laugh, half groan, and started to move. The first few thrusts were languid, easy, but when he rose up onto his knees a bit, the new angle made her gasp with unexpected pleasure. She tried to stay quiet; if she called out for God or begged for more, she'd never hear the end of it. Or maybe they weren't going to tease each other about this. Maybe they'd really never mention it again. Maybe it would drive some awful wedge of silence between them. 

Giving him something to tease her about suddenly didn't seem so bad. She settled her hands on his arse, which wasn't quite as bony as the rest of him, and squeezed. He groaned, driving into her faster. 

"Donna," he said urgently. 

"What?" 

"That was passion," he said, sounding slightly aggrieved but not slowing down for an instant. She squeezed again, and his eyes fell shut. " _Donna_. Oh." He fumbled and slid his hand between their bodies, thumb seeking out her clit; she let him know when he found it, crying out sharply. His thrusts grew harder, more frantic, and she arched to meet him, urging him on. 

He was panting with each stroke now, face twisted with concentration, and given the way her own tension was mounting she hoped he could hold on a little bit longer. Before she knew it she was telling him so, gasping, almost there, _almost_... His eyes snapped open, staring into hers, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but then her climax hit, and hit again, until she was making noises she couldn't control and really didn't care about. Somewhere in the middle of it all the Doctor tensed, stifling his own cry; his thrusts sped up, then gradually slowed, and he leaned his forehead against hers as he shuddered to a halt. 

He rolled briefly away to dispose of the condom, then scooted back over to snuggle up with her. There might even have been a little afterglow, with the Doctor's head resting on her chest while she smoothed down his damp hair. He made a contented noise, stroking her arm as though he wasn't quite sated with touching her yet.

"Doctor?" she said eventually, nudging him in the ribs.

"Mmm?"

"What now?"

"Oh!" He sat up abruptly and pulled the sheet to his armpits. "That's right. Well, I think I've figured out the Pyxids' infertility problem. It came to me while... er." He scratched the back of his neck. "While I was trying not to come." 

Donna rolled her eyes and slid out of bed, fishing her clothes from the pile on the floor and tossing the rest at the Doctor. "Well?"

"It's like you said – they've been studying the wrong things, in their obsession with one particular era of human culture. All the details of this room." He tugged on his earlobe. "The condoms."

She stared at him. "You have got to be kidding me."

He grinned at her consternation. "Think about it. There's very little reason for them to go to the trouble of obtaining Earth-manufactured prophylactics. Unless, that is, they've forgotten, or never knew, what they were actually for. All we have to do is correct the misunderstanding, and the Pyxids can stop unintentionally practicing safe sex." 

"Come on, then." Donna pulled her jeans back on and extended a hand to the Doctor. "Let's go save the world."


End file.
